“What burrows?” Sweat streaming down his face and neck to stain his shirt, the swordsman blinked as his companion continued what appeared to be an aimless examination of the grass. Why, he wasn’t even directing his attention groundward, where one’s gaze would be expected to be focused if he was hunting for some kind of den.
It made no sense. Never mind that Simna had never heard of a tomuwog and had no idea what such a creature might look like. Even if it dug a burrow large enough for a human to crawl into, anything large enough to accommodate Hunkapa Aub or the black litah would have to be a veritable cave, harder to avoid seeing than not. And they had passed no such opening in the earth in the course of their flight. With the constricting blaze crackling all around, he turned a slow circle. There were a few small holes in the ground, the largest of which would prove a tight squeeze for a corpulent mouse. Anyone trying to burrow away from the flames would need not only a physical refuge, but one large enough to sustain a sizable air pocket.
“Bruther, this is crazy!” Spreading his hands wide, he implored his companion. “We have to make a break for it! Otherwise we’ll …”
Ehomba disappeared. Not instantly, as if he had evaporated in the rising heat or vanished into some sorceral otherwhere, but gradually. It happened right in front of the swordsman’s disbelieving eyes. One moment the tall southerner had been standing before him, scanning the tops of the blowing grass. Then he started to go away. First his long spear, prodding and probing. Then the hand and arm holding it, followed by the rest of him, until all had been erased from view.